


iron and mercy

by taylocrow



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Mob, F/M, Happy Ending, Mystery, Organized Crime, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylocrow/pseuds/taylocrow
Summary: Years after leaving, Sansa is forced back into an abandoned past. One she left behind in favor of a lawful and safe life. Now she has to choose once again, but this time, the circumstances will be much different.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is SO out of my comfort zone. I’ve never written action in my life??? Anyways, not a ton of Jonsa this chapter but I promise next chapter will have lots of flashback fluff.

  
It’d been a long twelve hours by the time Sansa threw her keys to the entryway table, it’s around 7:30 as she flicks the light on to her apartment and heads down the hallway towards her bedroom to change out of her scrubs. She begins to hum to herself as she thinks of what’s in the fridge and inwardly debates the pros and cons of just ordering some delivery. When she pushes open her bedroom door and heads for her dresser, she hears the door slam. 

Immediately she screams and begins to swing her arms, but she’s caught and restrained by a giant pair of arms. She flails and rears her head back, earning a satisfying crunch from the man’s nose. He screams out, “JESUS! Mary and Joseph!” He drops her and she begins to sprint towards the door. “Sansa! Sansa! No, Jesus, come back!”

She runs until the arms encircle her waist again, this time she spins around to face the man and brings her arms up to scratch up his face, but she pauses upon seeing him. Sandor Clegane with blood pouring from his nose and a wild look in his eye, “It’s me, it’s me!”

“What the  _ fuck _ ! Sandor!” Sansa pulls from his grasp and he lets go easily. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We’ve got to go, come on, now.” He grabs her arm and begins to yank roughly on it. Sansa tries to dig her heels in but its useless against his brute strength. “What are you talking about? Let me go!”

Her old keeper pulls her back to her bedroom and tosses her like a rag doll to the bed and grabs a duffel bag at the end of it. She stands up and squares her shoulders, “Tell me what is going on!” 

“Questions later. Let’s get going.” Sandor lifts up the duffel bag and grabs her hand to pull her along. 

“I can walk.” Sansa tries to pull away but he just readjusts his grip to her forearm and pulls harder. 

“No time for any bullshit, we’re going and we’re going now. They already followed you home and are probably down in the fucking parking lot.” Sandor throws her front door open and slams it shut behind them. “You got a gun?”

“A gun?” Sansa hisses incredulously, “No Sandor, I don’t own a fucking gun. I don’t live like that anymore.”

Sandor chuckles darkly and pulls her along to the stairwell, after he kicks that door open dramatically, he looks over his shoulder at her. “Told you before that this will never stop. Once you’re in, you’re in it for life.” With that he scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder, much to her dismay. She kicks and punches and he pops the back of her legs to get her to quit. He pulls up his phone and brings it to his ear, “Coming out the left side stairwell. We good? Fuck. We’ll have to run. Opening the door in ten.” 

Sansa stills and whispers, “Ten what?” 

He drops her and pulls the door open, “Run.” 

With that he wraps a hand around her shoulder and pulls her along. Gunshots immediately ring out and Sansa screams at the sound of them but Sandor simply pulls her along until a blacked out car squeals up beside them. Sandor pulls open the car door and throws her in before following suit. The car pulls off as bullets ping off the shatterproof windows and Sansa gasps for air. She looks at Sandor leaning forward and whispering something to the driver of the vehicle. 

Her hands begin to shake and without even a moment to prepare she rolls over and vomits all over the floor of the car. 

“Aw, Jesus!” The driver swears and Sansa squints her eyes to see the familiar bright hair. Tormund Giantsbane peers over his shoulder briefly before tossing a water bottle back her way. Next thing she knows Sandor’s in her face and pulling her up and buckling her in. The water bottle has rolled to Sandor’s side and he’s speaking lowly to Tormund in words she can’t understand. Codenames and secrets and she reaches for the water bottle only to be slapped in the hand by Sandor.

“Shit, sorry.” He leans down and passes it to her, “Thought you were reaching for my hip.”

The gun tucked in his pants flashes and Sansa grimaces before bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a swig, “Explain.”

“You had a target on your back and we’re taking you to safety.” Tormund explains as he takes a sharp turn. Sansa looks out the window to see sprawling farmlands and realizes quickly they’re taking a back road. “Where are we going?”

“Safehouse in Hornwood.” Sandor looks at her fully, his ugly scar barely covered by his shoulder length hair, his eyes dark as coal. There's a napkin shoved up the nostril she made bleed. “You’re going to want to call your boss.” 

Sansa rolls her eyes and slams her head back against the headrest, her feet straddling the puddle of her puke, and she runs her fingers through her hair to keep calm. “Can’t you just get it over with and I can go back?” 

She knows all too well how this will end. 

Sandor clicks his tongue, “Don’t worry about it Birdie, it’ll be you and me until it’s safe. You ain’t gotta see him any.” 

Her face sours at the old nickname and she briefly debates just throwing herself out of the car. She’d either die, go to the hospital and whoever is after her would kill her, or end up right where she already is. There’s never any use debating anything The Family sets in motion. 

Instead she closes her eyes and pretends to not notice Sandor staring. It’s silent for a while, and she only pays attention once she feels Sandor moving beside her again. He covers the floor beneath her with a towel and curses. “Damn, you got my nose good.”

“Good.” She mumbles and he scoffs in response. Last time this happened she was stuck in a panic room for a week, and if she misses a week at work there’s a chance she may still have a job when she gets back. Longer than that and she’ll be screwed. 

Sansa’s never been to the safehouse in Hornswood. In fact, she’s only been to one safehouse and the panic room at her ex’s twice, the last time being four years ago when she left. Sansa feels exactly the same as she did the last time Sandor snatched her up and kept her locked up like a child. 

All under Boss’ orders. Boss with a capital B. 

When they pull up, she’s surprised to find a modest country style home. Although she doubts she’ll get to do much exploring. Sandor switches out the bloodied napkin in his nose for a new one and hisses, “Shit, I think you might’ve really fucking broke my nose.” 

She hides her smug smile by starting to open the car door. Sandor reaches across her to slam it closed at once. He shoots her a look as his spare hand continues adjusting the napkin. Tormund looks over his shoulder, “Just a quick sweep.”

Sansa grits her teeth and stares straight ahead. Sandor eventually drops his arm from the door when he trusts her enough to know she’s not going to run for it. Tormund is too close and they have the advantage of knowing the area, they’d catch her in minutes. 

The door opens and Tormund’s orange hair pops in, “All clear.” 

Sandor reaches up front to grab her bag and eyes her. Sansa crosses her arms over her work scrubs and waits for him as he circles the car to open the door for her. She’s humiliated and feels like a petulant child. If she hadn't hurt Sandor’s nose already she would be a lot more angry. 

His grip on her elbow is fierce as he steers her towards the house. Sansa takes a quick peak around but it’s impossible to see anything in the pitch black the canopy of trees provide. Once she’s shoved inside she sees Gendry seated at the kitchen table directly in front of her. 

He hops up at her presence and stumbles over his long limbs. “Sansa.” 

Gendry Waters being here can only mean one thing and she pivots to shoot Sandor a pair of wide and questioning eyes. His only response is a dismissive shrug, “Sorry Birdie, I knew you’d put up too much of a fight and I couldn’t have you hopping out of a speeding car.” 

She sets her jaw and narrows her vision at him, “Take me to my room.” 

Sandor looks over at Gendry and Sansa misses whatever kind of glance or communication he used but Gendry is left clamoring after them as Sandor pushes her ahead of him and up the steps. Without really noticing her surroundings, she’s down the hall and in a room in a matter of a minute and Gendry is whispering a string of what sound like threats and commands. 

Sandor shuts the door in Gendry’s face and Sansa feels herself grow small behind his towering body blocking the door. He spins around and tosses her bag to the bed and gives her the look he always did when he’s about to tell her something she doesn’t want to hear. 

“He’s here.” Sandor explains, “I thought he was coming tomorrow, but he’s down the hall.” 

“Did I not even get the master?” Sansa frowns and Sandor guffaws. 

“Princess Birdie.” He shakes his head and then leans close to her, enough so she can feel his breath, and points to his nose. “Did you break it?” 

Sansa attempts to hide her prideful smirk by gently placing a finger on his jaw to turn his head, “I think so.” 

“Fuck.” Sandor sighs, “This old dog can’t take much more of a beating.” 

She thinks about apologizing but then decides against it when he grabs the doorknob, “Nursing school and a boyfriend, huh?” 

Sansa crosses her arms self consciously and looks to her wimpy overnight bag to avoid his gaze. 

“Hm.” Sandor opens the door wider and mumbles, “Anything you want me to pass along?”

Without a second thought she hisses, “My life is at risk,  _ again _ , and I’m not even fucking with him. Tell him fuck off for me.” 

Sandor chuckles and shakes his head as a form of goodbye and closes the door tightly behind himself. Sansa immediately slumps to the bed and falls back onto it, staring at the ceiling. Anger bubbles and boils hot in her belly. The thought of losing everything she’s worked so hard for and to lose it for the life she already gave up threatens to make her sick all over again. 

Instead she closes her eyes and tries to pretend everything is just a dream until she, herself, is actually dreaming. 

The next morning she’s rudely awoken by the slamming of her door against the wall as it swings open. Tormund towers above her with a toothy grin, “Morning sunshine.”

Sansa scowls and begins to sit up. She’s still in her scrubs from her work day and despite her rough night and arrival, she slept pretty decently for spending the entire night fully clothed with shoes on. Tormund’s face is dramatically frowning now as he says, “Just spent my morning cleaning up your puke! And Clegane slept like shit so he’s even more pissy than usual because you broke his damn nose.” 

Sansa now stands up and opens her mouth to start but Tormund cuts her off by continuing. “Now he’s asking you to reset it.” 

“No.” Sansa literally flips her hair and Tormund rolls his eyes and laughs. “Anyways, Boss wants ya.” 

The playful mood Tormund brought on drops quickly to one of panic and Sansa shakes her head violently. “No way. No, Tormund. I’ll stay here as long as I need. I’ll just be in here. Hell, I’ll reset Sandor’s nose.” She pleads desperately only for Tormund to give her a pair of sad eyes. 

“Sansa, I...well, we know. We all get it. You left and are done but you need to be filled in.” Tormund looks tortured as he explains and Sansa shakes her head once again. 

“Then you tell me!” Sansa shouts and fights to keep tears from gathering in her eyes. “You just stole me from my home and drove me out to the middle of nowhere. Someone’s coming to kill me. What’s new? What else? Been there, done that.” 

Tormund clasps his hands together and opens his mouth to start, but the door opens behind him. And there he is. 

Jon Snow. 

His hair is loose and messy, curls as lopsided as his smile once was. Now there’s a firm line and a serious gaze. How could she have forgotten how grey his eyes are? They give nothing away as he leans against the doorway. The black sweater he wears is pulled tight by his newly chiseled muscles, hands shoved into his matching black jeans. 

Sansa stares and sets her jaw, clenching her teeth to keep from gasping, and silently dares him to speak. 

“Clegane passed on your message for you.” Jon scratches his jaw and nods for Tormund to leave. For a moment, Tormund seems to hesitate and looks between the two of them for a beat too long. “Go.” Jon commands and he’s squeezing by and out the door immediately. 

“All your little pets got me.” Sansa’s face turns at him barking at Tormund like a dog. “There’s nothing left to say.” 

Jon tilts his head slightly before pushing off the door frame and taking two steps further into her room. “I wanted to apologize.” 

“Save it.” Sansa snarls. “Go back to do whatever you have to do and then I’ll go home.” 

Emotion flickers across his face so quickly it’s impossible to tell what her words did to him. Sansa knows the old Jon would be crying and shaking if she spoke to him this way. The Jon she fell in love with 10 years ago. 

This Jon, the one she left four years ago, is harder still. More impenetrable than she last saw. He takes a deep breath, “It’s more complicated than that. Hence why you’re here.” 

Sansa feels the familiar sense of fear crawl up her spine as he takes his hands from his pockets, “I just figured I owed you an explanation is all. If you don’t want it, fine. I’ll go.” 

She’d never been brave enough to tell him to leave, never had the guts to push him away whenever he was in front of her. Sansa left like a thief in the night after setting up a plan for a month and a half. Jon hadn’t even come after her, or tried to talk. 

Things got so fucked up that it became impossible to tell good from bad. For a couple who never fought, they went from cold shoulders to heated shouts. One morning she woke up and felt as if there wasn’t anything left to save. 

She’s spent the past four years finishing her nursing degree and working at a hospital. All she could do was keep her head above water, she never allowed herself the tempting torture of imagining where he was or what he felt. 

Guilt consumes her and she opens her mouth to allow him to explain, but he’s already left. 

Right back to storming out and slamming doors. Sansa can’t wait.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashback and some angst

  
The first time Sansa sees him is a few days after her start of sophomore year, she’s fifteen and still knobby kneed. He’s dark and stoic as he passes her in the hallway. She notices him only because every other pair of eyes is trained on his every step. 

She finds out his name is Jon Snow at lunch from a friend at her table. Their hometown of Winterfell isn’t huge, but it isn’t quite small either, so Sansa has managed to be completely unaware of his existence for years. He’s three years older and doesn’t play any sports. Doesn’t attend a church or any clubs. His parents own some fancy house that her friends describe to her as a “fucking crazy palatial mansion.” Jon drives a sleek sports car to school and smokes cigarettes. 

And then a month later Sansa learns he’s failing geometry. She started up tutoring for volunteer hours and to add another bullet point to her future college application. It’s just for a couple hours a week, she’s met a few friends, learned a lot, but she immediately feels embarrassed of it when he shows up. 

He doesn’t smile when he speaks to the librarian who then directs him Sansa’s way. When he meets eyes with her there’s a slight quirk of his lips, and she feels her stomach plummet and dance at the sight of it. Sansa feels her chest tighten as he sticks a hand out, “Jon Snow.” 

She catches his hand with her own and gives it a firm shake, “Sansa Stark.” 

He smirks, “Stark like Robb Stark?” 

Proud to be Robb’s little sister, she nods quickly and Jon makes a face she can’t quite decipher. “Yes, he’s my big brother.” 

Jon taps his fingers against his thighs, “How nice.” He’s short but not rude, just very clear he doesn’t want to get into anything. It makes Sansa on edge as she asks, “What are you doing?” 

He quirks an eyebrow and frowns, “This is the tutoring center right?” 

Sansa nods dumbly, “Uh, yeah. Yes. But what are you doing here?” 

“I need a tutor.” Jon shoves his hands in his pockets and clears his throat, “Geometry.” 

He’s a senior, he should be in pre-calculus. Sansa tries to keep any emotion off her face but fails in doing so because he rolls his eyes, “Are you gunna help or not? Because if you’re going to be like all the other teachers about it then I really will just fucking leave.” 

“No.” Sansa stares him straight on, “Sit at that table and I’ll grab a practice worksheet. Get out some paper and a pencil.” 

Jon smirks and does a small salute, “Yes ma’am.” 

Sansa hides her smile by heading back to the desk to grab the materials. When she sits down and takes a look over his review notes as he flips open his textbooks, that’s when it all starts.

The day that haunts Sansa and plagued her dreams. If he hadn’t come in that day, or gotten another tutor, or just hadn’t been fucking failing, Sansa’s life would be entirely different. 

She still isn’t sure she’d say she regrets any of it.

-

Taking a shower was the best choice. It gave her time to decompress and allowed her space where none of the men would barge in to poke and prod at her for Jon. So she takes her time and tries to level her head. 

She takes forever to brush her teeth, comb her hair, smother her skin in lotion, and put on the random pair of purple slacks Sandor shoved in the bag to go with an oversized sleep shirt he shoved in. There’s no rhyme or reason to the clothing he packed whatsoever. 

She smirks to herself when she sees how goofy she looks in the mirror. Somehow in all the times she’s imagined running into Jon or seeing him again, this scenario never popped up. Sansa checks the bag and there’s only one sock. 

In defeat, she tosses the damn duffel to the floor and heaves a sigh. Her stomach grumbles and aches from hunger, but before she can go downstairs she figured she’d better give her work a call. There’s no way she’ll be able to take the vacation to the beach like she’d been planning on. As she shuffles through her belongings she realizes her phone is nowhere to be found. 

Of course not. 

Sansa swings her bedroom door open and jogs down the stairs of the cottage and into the living room. Gendry and Tormund sit side by side on the couch and hop up to their feet upon her entrance. 

“Where is he?” She huffs and Gendry clears his throat. 

“Out back, but Sansa—“ Gendry tries and Sansa’s already stormed through the kitchen to the sliding glass doors. Tormund says something she can’t decipher as she unlocks them and pushes it violently open. The metal and glass rattles after her, “Give it to me.” 

Jon is on the phone and Sandor stands beside him with a pair of black eyes and tissues up his nostrils. A pang of guilt jolts Sansa still, “Sandor,” she speaks his name so softly and tenderly. 

He shifts uncomfortably and looks between Sansa’s sad face and Jon’s stoic one. She steps forward and tenderly grabs his chin, he flinches at her touch, but doesn’t pull away. Sansa leads him to a lawn chair across from Jon and tries to decipher whatever he’s mumbling into the phone. 

“You don’t want to know, Birdie.” Sandor scolds her eavesdropping and she pulls out a tissue harder than she should’ve. He hisses in response and she almost feels bad until she hears Jon say “kill.” 

Sansa tilts Sandor’s head and speaks gently, “I’m going to take out the other tissue, grab your cheeks, and use my thumbs to reset your nose. It will hurt. When it’s over, there will be a lot less pressure and your nose will bleed again. It should take two weeks to start healing up.” 

She goes about the procedure with confidence and composure. Sandor winces, yelps, and hisses as she does what she described. When the blood pours from his nose, Sansa is tapped on the shoulder by Jon. Who is holding out two silken handkerchiefs. Without a word she takes them and places them into Sandor’s nostrils. 

“Get some painkillers and rest.” She taps his shoulder and he groans while rising to his feet. 

“I’d say thanks but I’m not there yet.” He grits his teeth and heads inside. 

Sansa wipes her hands on the purple slacks and then looks to Jon. “I need my phone to call off of work.” 

“Can’t do that.” Jon shakes his head, “Had it tossed miles away so it couldn’t be tracked. Do you know the number?” 

“My phone!” Sansa gasps, “That had pictures on it and appointments! Dammit!” 

Jon pulls out his own phone and silently offers it just as he had the handkerchiefs. She rolls her eyes and snatches it from his hand, “I’m going to get fired.” 

“We’ve got bigger fish to fry and you’ve got an in demand job. You’ll get another one.” Jon’s voice is infuriatingly dismissive before he spins on his heel to head back inside the house. 

“Wait a minute.” Sansa scowls, “How did this turn into _you_ having an attitude with _me_? I didn’t kidnap you against your will, hold you hostage in a random house, and toss your phone out to the wind!” 

Jon pivots right back towards her, his sharp demeanor causing her to flinch, “ _I’m_ not the one who you want to be angry with, Sansa Stark. I hope you remember that as you mourn the loss of your fucking phone and run of the mill job.” 

She gasps as if he’s slapped her and he’s right back to walking away. It’s something about his retreating figure sliding open the glassdoor that sets her off, “You’re not holding up your end of the bargain. Here we go, yet again, where your word and your promises are nothing but shallow lies you use to manipulate me into getting what you want. This wasn’t part of the deal.”

He pauses for a brief moment, she’s seething and literally hunched, prepared for his counter attack. The sliding glass door makes a loud bang when Jon slams it shut, and while she expected that reaction, she hadn’t been prepared for him to actually turn back and fight. 

“You wanna know why I have my ex hidden up in this house? Why I had your address, your work schedule memorized and fucking _Sandor_ watching out for you at the hospital?” Jon closes the space between them, “Because you’re in bed with the fucking Feds.” 

Sansa narrows her eyes and waits for him to continue. Jon sets his jaw and huffs at her lack of reaction, dissatisfied, “There’s a goddamn target on your back and a RICO op on the business because you aren’t wise enough to think about who you’re opening your legs to.” 

If she hits him, she’ll be giving him exactly what he wants, and it’ll be just like it once was. He’s saying this to hurt her, to get his way, and she refuses to give in. So instead of popping him she takes a grounding breath before responding, “It’s all my fault? You’re the one profiting off of illegal activities and I’m the one who has ruined it all?” 

“Actually,” He scoffs, “Yeah. It is. We haven’t been on the radar in the last two years. You start fucking _Harry_ and we’re all about to be fried.” 

“Don’t.” Sansa hisses. 

“Don’t what?” His nostrils flare and she gets right in his face. 

“Don’t say his name.” His name sounds like a knife from Jon’s lips. It cuts and stabs and churns her insides, the feeling threatens to make her ill. Jon shoves his hands in his pockets. “You know I couldn’t let you go completely, you had to know it wouldn’t work like that.” 

Sansa wraps her arms around herself, feeling both childish and stupid, “Take me home, please.” She immediately deflated as she resorted to begging. 

Jon rubs his eyes and then his mouth in haste. “Give me five weeks.” 

“Weeks!?” Sansa shouts incredulously. “What the hell is going on?” 

Jon smiles with no joy, eyes dark and hollow, “They’re after you to get to me. Just like always.” 

Sansa stares mutely until he points to her clothes, “There’s more clothes in a spare bedroom upstairs. I won’t be back until tomorrow.”

There isn’t enough time to reply, she feels as if she blinks and he’s gone. After countless similar situations she figured she’d be used to it, but it guts her just the same. Jon Snow hurts her like nobody else can. He knows all the right buttons and exactly how to save her. 

Tormund beckons her inside with an apologetic glance and a kind offer of tea. Sansa accepts gratefully, even sits across from the man. And as she sips from the cup she tries to think of what exactly Jon is saving her from this time. Goosebumps flood her skin the moment it clicks that she probably can’t even imagine. Why else would he find it necessary to keep her here?


End file.
